Dear Miss Mugshot~
GlRL! You caved! I never dreamed he’d get you to the altar, I thought you had backed out by the time I started this project. Dammit. You were the only other woman he “dated” who seemed to have any kind of a backbone, certainly the only one *I* had any respect for. I know because there was a Yahoo Trail for every single one of his exes, he was having the same exact conversation with about seven girls. I was in his email looking for clues (yeah, I’m THAT bitch), all while desperately trying to figure out why he would not leave me alone. Why *I* (such a strong willed and wildly independent person) could not get the impotent snake out of my life. I was trapped, he respected no boundaries~ he knew my family, my friends, my habits, my hangouts, he could always find me or get to me somehow.
Then just when it seemed I was in the clear, he’d call my mom and TELL on me! HIS mommy would not take my phone calls though and he would weasel his way back into my life, give me an IOU of sorts and take me grocery shopping. He would not leave (I repeat: WOULD. NOT. LEAVE.) until I said we were “okay”, whatever that meant. To this day, you can ask him the NUMBER ONE thing that bugged him about BRIANNE. He’ll say: “She was always breaking up with me.”
Gee whiz. If someone was “always breaking up” with you, wouldn’t you GO? Even if just for your own pride, you would leave. Anyone with the smallest shred of dignity would have gone away, correct? CORRECT?
Hum. Not so your husband. Forget about “dignity”.
It was like cutting off my own head to escape a noose, that is the most pleasant way I can describe my struggle. His ideas of ethics and morality were so fractured and so dangerously skewed that he could flip any situation to make ME the bad guy, inventing nonsensical value systems as he went along. I’d want him to leave and I would yell whatever “reasons” I could come up with at him: “You’re not cute!”, “I am not attracted to you!”, “You’re not smart enough!”. “YOU’RE A TERRIBLE PERSON AND I PRAY YOU GET EATEN BY A FIRE BREATHING ANTELOPE! I HOPE YOU EXPLODE!”
OR the *big* whammy:
“You never worked for the Jaguars, dummy. You only worked for their advertising agency and you were canned for having porn on your work computer!”
(ever want to see him scramble for excuses and erupt in fury, go THERE. I dare you. Every word is true and he can’t stand it! He is nothing without his surface charm!)
Logical reasons, right? But he kept a stash of misplaced guilt in his back pocket and he’d throw it in my face:
“You can’t break up with someone over those things, it’s not MY fault I’m not better looking! Do you really want to be that girl?”
Apparently NOT LIKING HIM AS A PERSON was not good enough either, I couldn’t get out. You may not believe this, but I considered faking my own death or fleeing the country to get away. All that just to break up with my “boyfriend”? When *I* was the kind of woman who could have any man she wanted and still had very little interest in dating or relationships? Who would rather just find “the one” and call it a day?
Yet I couldn’t get rid of THIS leech? The ANTI Prince Charming?
* * *
When I try to explain this to people (especially boys), they do not understand. Most people cannot comprehend dealing with someone whose life is not governed by conscience; no guilt, no shame, nothing, it’s unfathomable. My father is a sociopath, so I have been reading about ice people since childhood and can quickly spot things other people don’t know to look for. HERE the case is so extreme that he doesn’t know anything’s missing, can’t even bother to hide what he is. His mediocrity must mask him though, as he puts zero effort into staying invisible. I swear, he could meet a hundred new people tomorrow and not one of them would sense anything different or flawed. Not one.
Still it screams to anyone who looks.
Then there’s YOU: the woman who married him.
I am not expressing opinion here, you have to know by now something’s simply not right. Even if you can’t quite put your finger on it, you overlook a lot and ignore quite a few red flags, right? God knows his mother does.
(by the way, don’t worry about her, she didn’t like me either. Ever get her old junk jewelry from the late eighties/ early nineties as a holiday present? The miserable, miserable wretch would actually come to my home and present me with the most hideous and clunky, yellow-gold-painted plastic jewelry! Wrapped festively in empty Altoids containers! Then she would have the gall to tell me she found it at some “high end estate sale” and “couldn’t help thinking” of me. Burn. My favorite was when she went to a Detroit Lions game and brought me back a freaking WITCH hat. That silver-spoon-fed old crone may try to be polite and keep up appearances, but a witch hat speaks a thousand words)
Despite all my “Myra Hindley and Ian Brady”/ “Paul Bernardo and Karla Homolka” jokes about your marriage, you’d have to be a pretty good person I would think. If you weren’t conscience bound, you would never have appealed to good old Oedipus Rex~ someone cold inside would never have the supply he was looking for, he would have no power over you. You would not suit his needs.
Here is the jist of one of your breakup conversations. I have thought of this conversation many, many times since I discovered it in 2008, mainly because it so clearly showed what he was:
OEDIPUS REX: Fine, fine, you never loved me, never cared about me. FINE. I want to know if it was ever real!! Was it ever real?
[He was asking because he genuinely did not know if it was “real”, he cannot tell the difference. He has had this conversation with every one of us, don’t take it too personally. It was never about the “US” in any of his “relationships”, just “I, I, I” and “Me, Me, Me.” You know that.]
YOU: You were just a sex toy.
[Bravo, girl! You had to know he loved that, being called a “sex toy” was great for his ego! Good way to keep him at bay! BINGO!]
OEDIPUS REX: Fine, fine, I was just a sex toy, I was just a sex toy. I never meant anything to you, you never cared about me. I was just a sex toy, but was it ever real?
YOU: Leave me alone! You were just a SEX TOY!
[please note there’s no mention of YOU at all, even if you did like the attention. I liked the attention myself at times]
Being called a “sex toy” was a compliment to him, what a STUD he must be! Needless to say, he did not realize you were answering his question. He is a repeater too, he’ll repeat things you say for years, especially the things he likes and/ or the things he can push in your face. He’s funny like that, ask him tonight what his most important moral value is, I dare you. He will say something stupid, like: “Never go grocery shopping hungry!” or “A two dollar bill should never cost more than two dollars!”
OR BETTER YET:
“IF YOU PUT YOUR PANTS BETWEEN THE MATTRESSES, YOU DON’T HAVE TO IRON THEM!”
Geez. Talk about the bottom of the barrel for Middle Class Morality!
* * *
Now YOU (and his mommy) may *think* this is none of my business, but the hell it’s not! It is very much my business, thank you. That jerk comandeered two years of my life for no real reason at all (trust me, I wasn’t his TYPE) and I have waited long enough to write about it. You only know what HE tells you and for chrissakes, HE’S not reliable~ do you want to hear all the things he told me about YOU? All terrible, of course, and about as TRUE as Jenna JabUsome being a Juggie on The Man Show! You do the math.
(Think I am lying, babe? Look again.)
I know I fought with everything I had to get out of that “relationship”, every single second I was in it~ it’s not “love”, it’s Stockholm Syndrome. When he says “I love you” it translates as “Do you love me?” He’s got you now, little girl, but the good news is you CAN make it work and actually be very happy! Practice saying, “Oh, poor baby!” and “That’s terrible, I don’t know how anyone could do that to you!” Run your fingers through his hair and kiss away his crocodile tears, gently caress his backne, rub the oily pock marks and greasy boils! If he is not happy, NO ONE is happy. Never be so selfish as to think about yourself or your own needs, that makes you a wretched, diabolical person. Unspeakably offensive.
(he never got my pity, that was one thing I kept to myself. I was not about to cry because someone had heartlessly affronted him by doing something heinous, like cutting in front of him in line at the grocery store! Or NOT offering to help him carry something to his car. Oh, he was the target of such cruel acts! God forbid someone NOT let him into the left lane during traffic hour! My lord! What terminal wounds!)
I’ll bet your happy marriage can last a long time, it’s easy: Just forget about all your hopes and your dreams, let go of everything you ever wanted to be. Just “stick by” him and “be there” for him, he speaks a language we both know very well: “I do my best, I am trying to show you that I care” and “I love you unconditionally” and “I go WITHOUT so you can HAVE.” Just don’t throw him “under the bus” (note the overabundance of trite euphemisms) and change whatever you need to change about yourself to make him happy. It’s all about him now. Of course, he’ll try to gaslight you by saying:
“Miss Mugshot, YOU are important to me. You come first, I put you before my job, my friends, my family! EVERYTHING. I care more about you than I do MYSELF, you are THAT important to me.”
To an extent, this is so true it will hurt: You are a goddess, the Venus DeMilo! You are Aphrodite rising from the sea! He worships you, stands before you in awe and adoration! You reign supreme in his world, no one can touch you! He’ll shower you with attention from dusk til dawn, he’ll put you first in every scenario! It’s such rush too, the overwhelming floods of being “cherished” and put up on some crazy pedestal: “You’re not a princess, you’re a QUEEN!”
This is almost true, except there’s one little catch you’ll be too flattered to see: He will never (NEVER! NEVER! NEVER!) put you above himself. Sure, he’ll make you think he is putting you first, but he’s not really~ he’ll delight in acting like a martyr, the whole while calculating how he is going to make you pay for the indignity later. Just wait til you send him out in the middle of the night to get tampons, or something equally as traumatic. It’s his way of WINNING, playing with your perception; everyone is for sale in his world and he isn’t willing to pay very much.
Speaking of PRICES, how many suicide notes have you been EMAILED? The boy would EMAIL suicide notes to me, I got them at the most ungodly hours; he would list me as the (AHEM!) beneficiary for some sort of inheritance or insurance money or some other hooey, then he would MySpace me a suicide note with a crude receipt for the amount I was getting! ON MYSPACE! Suicide notes to “Princess Buttercup”! At 3 am! He seemed to think this was some sort of grand gesture, some huge sacrifice to me on his part . . .
Gee. Thanks. Nothing says “I love you!” like a slew of type written death threats!
What makes it all the better is that my whole name did not fit on the MySpace moniker; so not only would I be getting hoards of this ridiculous tripe every week, it would all be addressed to PRINCESS BUTT.
(if that’s not hardcore, I don’t know what is.)
TO: PRINCESS BUTT:
Please prepare accordingly, this is going to be used by you tonight. I know you think I m subhuman and a piece of shit and that I am lying but I already started the process. This money can be used for Paris, Tiffany & Co, a Leopard Print Bunny Outfit, anything you desire. I was not able to change the benificiary on my 401k, but it is only about four grand. Goodbye Brianne. I’m sorry.
Love, Oedipus Rex
Gut wrenching, huh? Did it break your heart? Well, look again: A) Leaving something to someone after your death is not all that selfless anyway, you don’t need possessions after you die. WHAT? Was he going to be bloody buried in a Leopard Print Bunny Costume? Then B) HE NEVER DIED! THAT was the clincher everyone seemed to be missing five years ago, when he claimed to everyone (inclusive of, but not limited to his family, his coworkers and his Taco Bell Chihuahua) that I had been “extorting” and “blackmailing” him for money by “forcing” him to list me as his beneficiary! Everyone confronted me about this too because not only was it frighteningly morbid, it made no sense at all.
How could it make sense? The punk was still breathing.
He never died, not even close. Suppose I had forced him to list me as a beneficiary (which I would never have thought to do), what good would it have done me? I never was going to see a dime of that money (if it even existed) unless I killed him myself! Believe me, had I been even remotely capable of killing anyone, I would have snuffed THIS bastard for *FREE*! A mercy killing! My pleasure! Don’t even mention it!
When he reads this (and he will, if only because it is about HIM), he won’t see himself in any of it. “That lying bitch,” right? “That stupid butt!” I know, I know. Please note that of all his exes, I am the only (ONLY! ONLY! ONLY!) one he would never dare try and go back to. How did I accomplish this? To this day, thinks he broke my heart and left me for another woman and BLAH, BLAH, BLAH . . .
Yet no matter how far you throw a boomerang, it comes back to you.
So I broke the boomerang. I got the idea when I switched my dog’s flea medication, I gave her this new pill and all the fleas just went away. They did not die, they willingly left! On their own! It was not until that moment that I realized there was ONE FLEA LEFT! A giant, porn addicted flea with no morals and bad backne! I had to poison the well! FOREVER!
(not a soul knew about my “plan” either, not one single person. I could not have the risk)
I flipped the mirror and turned into HIM. He is a weak, weak “man”, but nothing disgusts him more than seeing weakness in other people, particularly YOU. If you ever get down on your knees and start crying and begging the way he does [in the parking lot of Bed, Bath and Beyond or wherever], he’ll look away and demand you get up. If you don’t, he’ll pant, his whole face will sweat and throb and he’ll look at you like you are the lowest ball of slime on the planet. He’ll be furious and he’ll want to hit you, sometimes he’ll even spit in your face, but you can tell by his eyes he enjoys feeling superior. Even if you ARE merely a whiny, groveling inconvenience.
(which for me, was the idea. It took a lot more than that, but he went away, didn’t he?)
Now before you call me and threaten to come to St. Augustine and shove your boot up my “Ugly-Bitch-Beauty-Queen-Ass”, relax~ that one’s been done before. I realize “Miss Mugshot” is kind of a crap nickname, but if it makes you feel better, somewhere I have a mugshot myself. It is for the sake of anonimity, I did not know what else to call you and clearly my “Miss Mugshot” could be a million women.
Obviously I am talking about someone else’s husband, not yours. Are you CRAZY? How could this be about that sweet, endearing person you married? It has to be about someone else, it’s definitely, definitely not about your husband. Here’s hoping anyway!
Here’s looking at you, kid! Happy Anniversary!
The Artist Formerly Known As PRINCESS BUTT